


Reconnecting the Dots

by cresselia8themoon



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 10:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12034194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresselia8themoon/pseuds/cresselia8themoon
Summary: 2017 verse. Scrooge tells a bedtime story to Webby, whose admiration for Donald knows no bounds. It takes baby steps to reconnect with your family, but it's important to start somewhere.





	Reconnecting the Dots

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to wiz-witch on Tumblr for beta reading! Took me three days, but it was worth it!

Another day, another business meeting. Scrooge dropped the last of the dull golden coins in the money bin. The coins were always in meticulous condition, but since that fateful day, the sparkles had dulled and the surface no longer shone brightly.

Swimming in his personal El Dorado no longer held the same appeal as it once did. All this money, all the jewels he'd accumulated over years of hard work and determination, sitting isolated from the world.

It took a foolish man to believe that wealth was the most important thing in his life. In that case, there was nothing that separated him from any other foolish man, Scrooge supposed.

He turned away from his wealth, climbing out of the vault. The hatch was shut once again.

It was time to retire for the night and repeat the same routine tomorrow.

* * *

Mrs. Beakley was already waiting for him with the evening paper and a cup of hot, steaming tea. Scrooge sat in his cozy armchair, downing half the drink in a single gulp.

He picked up the paper, skimming through the paragraphs without interest. Convicts escaping prison didn't surprise him anymore. In the business section, there was speculation of Glomgold opening a new factory in St. Canard. Given the criminal activity in that city, Scrooge thought his rival would feel right at home.

"Ahem."

Scrooge folded the newspaper, placing it on the side table. He stared into the fireplace, devoid of any flames or coal. Nobody needed fireplaces now that there were heating systems. There was a basic one installed in the manor that didn't cover every room, but the draftiness meant nothing to him as long as he could cut corners on the cost.

After all, the cost of living had increased dramatically from the day he'd first set a webbed foot in America.

Behind him, Mrs. Beakley coughed.

Sighing, Scrooge turned towards her. "Beakley, we still have a few tablets left from the last allergy season."

"I do not have allergies," Mrs. Beakley replied coolly. "But now that I have distracted you from your brooding-"

Scrooge scowled. "Brood? Beakley, have you gone daft? I was only thinkin'!"

Beakley raised an eyebrow. "I'm no dafter than a man sits and stares into an empty fireplace. You're wallowing again."

"The only thing I wallow in is money," Scrooge grumbled, sinking into the chair.

"Yet you haven't done that in years. You just sit cooped up in this manor, only coming out for business meetings," Mrs. Beakley retorted. "I know loss hurts, but this isn't healthy. You won't be able to isolate yourself forever."

A voice in his mind told him she had a point, but he refused to listen. The events that had transpired that day weren't his fault, he maintained. Accidents happened all the time.

Being falsely blamed for Della's death was almost worse.

Della's loss, he corrected himself.

Scrooge had little use for hope. It wouldn't put bread on the table. It wouldn't make him money. Though, in Della's case, he would allow a small exception.

Or perhaps he was just an old man in denial.

"If I may make a suggestion," Mrs. Beakley continued, oblivious to his internal monologue. "Webby has developed an interest in some of your exploits. Perhaps a reliable source could fill her in on a few details. Books and newspaper clippings only tell that girl so much."

"I'm goin' to bed, Beakley," Scrooge snapped, reaching for his cane. "See you in the morning."

Mrs. Beakley sighed. "If you insist. I still have a few rooms to finish. Good night." As Scrooge shuffled up the stairs, he heard a mutter which sounded suspiciously like 'stubborn old duck'.

Rolling his eyes, Scrooge continued to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. As he passed by the door nearest to the stairwell, there was a crash on the other side, startling him out of his dark mood. "-we're sinking! Glub glub!" A young duck cried out. "Put out an SOS, First Mate Webby!"

The corners of his bill twitched in amusement, and he found himself listening for more.

"-and the rescue's a success! After the Beagle Boys, boys! They won't get away with the treasure! And please excuse First Mate Webby, because she's gotta go for a potty break!"

A potty break? Oh no. She was coming out into the hallway! He shouldn't have stopped and let himself be lost in a child's fantasy. Surely there were better methods to remember his adventuring days by.

He'd seen many things on his adventures, from the supernatural trying to murder him with an enchanted sword to so-called businessmen swindling local towns out of hard-earned money.

But all the riches of the earth couldn't prepare him for curious children.

Scrooge took a deep breath. There was no way he could get to his bedroom without Webby seeing him. Maybe he could just turn his back on her and hope she got the hint? While he certainly wasn't the most agreeable fellow, even he couldn't bring himself to be that callous to a child. How hard could saying good night to a child he barely interacted with be?

"Mister McDuck?" a voice said in surprise.

Scrooge mentally cursed. Caught while he was being indecisive! Brilliant. Webby looked back at the slight mess in her room, then at Scrooge. She was in her pajamas, her bow askew.

"Hello," Scrooge said. There. Simple and to the point.

Webby gaped up at him.

Kids still said hello, right? That greeting couldn't be outdated already.

"I heard you, er, playin' in there," Scrooge gestured to her room with his cane, then brought it back to a resting position. The tip hit the wooden floor with a loud thud.

Scrooge flinched. He hadn't set it down that hard...

Webby's eyes widened, and she scrambled to the bathroom without another word.

Sighing, he rubbed his temples, turning towards the master bedroom when a sparkle inside Webby's room caught his eye. Against his better judgement, he carefully made his way to the object, stepping around several plastic soldiers.

The sparkle had come from the reflective surface of a toy boat. Next to it laid a doll that bore a resemblance to Webby, pink bow included. There was a wooden figure of one of the more physically imposing Beagle Boys, though its paint job left something to be desired.

A book laid open on the nightstand, displaying pictures of castles. Interestingly, the book appeared more focused on the history and architecture of the castles rather than the idealized, fairy tale version of them.

Mrs. Beakley had not been exaggerating when she said Webby had developed an interest in his adventures. He'd explored countless castles before, each with a rich history and hidden treasure to discover.

Donald always tried to convince him to explore the castles built to house wealth, since he always had a habit of getting lost in the extensive tunnel systems in older, battle-ready foundations, Scrooge recalled.

A tiny gasp came from the hall, shaking him out of his nostalgia. Scrooge whirled around to find Webby standing in the doorway, her tiny body stiff as she tried to make sense of why he was in her room.

He couldn't come up with a reasonable excuse either.

"I see you enjoy castles," Scrooge said, holding up the book.

Webby was making eye contact with him now. Not everything that came out of his beak resulted in a disaster, at least. "I just wanted to know if you've ever seen castles. Are they bigger in real life? Do they really have ghosts and spooky stuff inside bookcases and stuff? Um, sorry for the noise earlier. I didn't mean to wake you up."

She traced a shape in the rug with her foot, looking down again. So much for eye contact. "No need to apologize," Scrooge said. "Ya did nothing wrong. I didn't mean to snoop through your things. Just...my curiosity has never quite left me."

He could sense an adventurous spirit inside this young girl. Suddenly he wasn't certain why Mrs. Beakley insisted on keeping her on the manor grounds. Born adventurers weren't meant to stay behind a wall.

An idea came to him. "Do you like stories?"

Webby nodded. "Can I pick the book?"

"Well, not exactly. Your grandmother said you were interested in my travels," Scrooge chuckled as a wide grin replaced her confusion. "Would you like to hear one?"

"Yes! Please, Mister McDuck!" Scrooge stumbled back as Webby suddenly rushed towards him, crushing his middle with a tight hug. This child had a death grip on him! What kind of training did Mrs. Beakley put her through anyway? "Can you tell me one that involves Donald Duck? Did his temper ever get you in trouble?"

"Lassie-" Scrooge choked, gently poking her in the stomach with his cane to dislodge her. He gasped for breath, leaning on his cane for support. "-okay, I'm fine now. I'm fine. I'll tell you the story of the Sapphire Swan. I promise this has Donald in it."

This was before the fallout, so there weren't any unpleasant memories with this particular outing. Della hadn't been with them for this adventure, since she'd had a bad case of flu at the time.

But he couldn't think about her now.

Webby sat down on her bed eagerly, patting the space beside her. Scrooge took that as an invitation, hooking his cane around the bedframe and sitting next to her.

"The Sapphire Swan. Made of the purest jewels that are bluer than a cloudless sky, with eyes of sparkling diamonds," Scrooge said, smiling when Webby leaned forward, hanging on every word. "Legend says that a rich lord had commissioned a skilled craftsman to make it as a present for his darlin'. But when the product was finished, the craftsman had an epiphany. His creation was too beautiful for a world of despair and bitterness. And so he refused to hand it over, nor did he accept payment for his labor. Before the lord could send someone to arrest him, the craftsman took the Sapphire Swan and stole away into the night."

"Why didn't he just hand it over like he was supposed to?" Webby asked.

She was sheltered, but curious. He liked that, for a reason he couldn't put his finger on.

"I don't pretend to understand why some men think the way they do," Scrooge admitted. "But stick to your guns, and you'll go far, lass. Now, the craftsman hid the treasure in an abandoned castle located in the Alps, away from prying eyes. Before he became a recluse, he attempted to send a message to the Pope that detailed the whereabouts of the Sapphire Swan. However, the letter was intercepted somewhere along the way, and has since been lost to history."

"Until Donald Duck found it!" Webby cheered.

"Um, yes, Donald found it. In his own special way," Scrooge muttered.

* * *

" _ARGH! STUPID! FALLING! BOOKCASE!" Donald screeched. He punched the side of the wood, only to recoil in pain as he clutched his bruised knuckles. A book had fallen across his bill, and a sealed, crinkled envelope fell out of the pages, landing in front of Scrooge's feet._

_He broke the seal, but only managed to read a few words before Donald's rage-filled words were incoherent and deafening. "Donald-" Scrooge dodged a thrown book. His own temper boiling, he slammed his cane against a metal cabinet._

_Donald continued to kick everything in reach._

_Scrooge coughed. "Well, since I can't grab your attention, CALM DOWN BEFORE I GIVE YOU A GOOD SMACK ACROSS THE TAILFEATHERS WITH ME CANE!"_

_That shut him up._

_Taking a deep breath, Scrooge read through the letter. "Castle in the Alps. Located on the fifth peak from the border of Switzerland and Germany," he muttered. "Gonna need a pilot. Need a cheap one too. This would be easier a certain someone hadn't come down with the flu."_

* * *

Webby giggled. "The record keeper probably didn't like you two destroying his stuff."

"No, he didn't," Scrooge chuckled. "We were banned from all villages in a ten mile radius after that outburst. Finding the castle was no problem once we had the crucial information in the letter. Finding a place to land was a little more difficult. At the time, I was used to a pilot who wasn't afraid to take risks. The one we used for that adventure was paranoid about the terrain. Bit of a trade-off though. Only cost me two pennies a mile."

Picking her doll up from the floor, Webby settled against her pillow, giving him a peculiar look. However, it was by no means unpleasant. Enthusiasm? Adoration? Childlike wonder?

He didn't know.

He rubbed his neck, deciding to continue the story before the awkwardness became unbearable.

"The castle was on one side of a cliff overlooking a deep valley. We had landed on the other side. There was a rickety suspension bridge in the middle. The pilot took one look at that bridge, and decided that he would rather stay in the helicopter and read a book! Ha! I've seen Donald pull off amazing feats of cowardice and bravery, but his face never turned as white as a sheet when he saw a silly bridge!"

"Donald is brave!" Webby pouted. "He wouldn't an adventurer if he wasn't!"

It took all of Scrooge's willpower to not burst out laughing right there. Oh, if she only knew...

* * *

" _Uncle Scrooge! This is a terrible idea!" Donald whimpered as he set one foot on the bridge. It rocked in the wind, creaking and moaning, but held steady. He took his foot off the plank and backed up._

" _Nonsense!" Scrooge called. "If I made it across without issue, so can you! The treasure won't just walk up to us!"_

_Donald didn't move._

_Shaking his head, Scrooge dislodged several long vines from a tree and intertwined them into a thick rope, looping one end to form a makeshift lasso. After giving the rope an experimental twirl, he threw the looped end to Donald._

" _Just hold onto the rope!" Scrooge called. "Move forward, and close your eyes if you need to! I have the other end!"_

* * *

"See? Donald made it across the bridge!" Webby exclaimed. "He's brave!"

Scrooge knew a losing battle when he saw it. There wasn't anything he could say about Donald that would decrease Webby's admiration for him. Donald would be jumping for joy if he ever knew that he had a fan.

Perhaps he could introduce them one day.

"The castle was about triple the size of this property," Scrooge said. "We figured there was something in there that drove people away, because it would be rather difficult to hide a building that size."

"What if they couldn't reach the castle by foot?" Webby asked. "Too many rocks, not enough people to carry supplies, or animals hiding in the woods."

Scrooge nodded. "All three of those are good possibilities. Now there was a slight issue. The letter didn't disclose the room of the Sapphire Swan was kept in, so we had to do a bit of exploring."

Webby made a face. "I bet there were cobwebs and creepy knights all over the place."

"The place was no different from any other abandoned castle. Same trapdoors, same dusty old rooms, and incredibly steep staircases. I handled the torch, which provided enough light to see about ten feet in front of you. I was nearly in the path of an ax at one point, and if it hadn't been for Donald..."

* * *

_Scrooge held up the torch, following the wall even though he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him. Donald took up the rear, flinching at a drop of water that fell from the stone above them._

_Searching the library had been a colossal waste of time. There was nothing but old book bindings falling apart at the seams and spiders crawling around the cracks in the floor. The kitchen yielded similar results._

_There were no thrones or flags that could've hidden a switch for a passageway either. At this point, one of their few options left was to comb through the basement._

_And Scrooge McDuck would never call it quits until he got hold of his much coveted treasure._

_The passage widened into a circular room. There were four different paths to choose from. Three would lead to danger or a dead end. Only one would lead them to the Sapphire Swan._

_He'd heard of the trick of following the left wall, but it always seemed absurd to place trust in an inanimate object to lead him where he wanted to go. Maybe there was a clue in the room somewhere._

_Before he could take a closer look at a ragged coat of arms hung on the wall, he was suddenly shoved to the ground, his jaw hitting the unforgiving stone. Furious, Scrooge shoved Donald off him with a huff. "Donald! You scared me out of my wits!"_

_Donald groaned, rubbing his head. Behind him, a giant ax head was buried in the ground, a few cracks stemming out from the rusted blade. Several white tail feathers were blown around the room._

" _Lucky it only clipped your tail," Scrooge sighed. There was a tiny speck of flesh visible on Donald's rump, but the feathers would grow back in time._

" _Lucky it didn't clip your neck," Donald muttered._

* * *

"Did you at least say thank you? He saved your life!" Webby had a surprisingly ferocious glare for someone her age.

"No, not exactly. I can get sidetracked on these sorts of things," Scrooge admitted.

Webby folded her arms. "You didn't say thank you, Mister McDuck! You should call Donald and tell him, because better late than never!"

Scrooge paled. "Webby, it's a little late. He's likely in bed at this point. Or eating dinner. Or relaxing his blood pressure."

"You could call him tomorrow," Webby suggested.

"Sure, tomorrow, why not," Scrooge said quickly, deciding to quell this part of the conversation while he could. "We were very fortunate that the Sapphire Swan was at the end of the corridor we chose. It was on a pedestal in the middle of a tiny room, still in excellent condition. But when I removed it from the pedestal, the ghost of the craftsman appeared!"

* * *

" _Trespassers! Return the Sapphire Swan or perish by the sword!" The ghost wailed, his rags hanging off a gaunt body. He brandished his weapon, which glowed a sickly green._

" _Donald, run for the exit! I'll hold him off!" Scrooge tucked the treasure inside his coat, planting himself between Donald and the ghost._

_Donald shook his head. "I'm not leaving you, Uncle Scrooge! Either we both go, or we don't!"_

_They evaded the blade, their backs against the wall, glaring at each other. "You're a stubborn one, nephew," Scrooge said. "I'm covering you on the way out though. No time to waste!"_

* * *

"How did you and Donald defeat him?" Webby gasped, clutching her doll in anticipation.

"Ghosts are limited to certain territories. The craftsman died inside the castle, so that became his domain," Scrooge explained. "We evaded falling stones, clambered over broken pillars, and were almost deafened by the ghostly wails. But we made it outside, where the ghost could not follow. And so, we returned to triumphant to Duckburg with the Sapphire Swan in hand!"

Webby clapped, her eyes twinkling in excitement. "Can you tell me another story, Mister McDuck? Please?"

Scrooge laughed, grabbing his cane as he slowly stood up. "You should be gettin' to sleep now. It's late."

Webby yawned. "Aw, but I want another one! I'm not...sleepy. " She sank against her pillow, curling into a tiny ball.

"Tomorrow," Scrooge promised. "I'll come by tomorrow." She certainly fell asleep quickly. He drew the covers up to her neck, removing her bow and tossing it on the nightstand. "Good night, Webby."

He turned out the lights in her room, quietly closing her door. Mrs. Beakley stowed a featherduster in a supply closet, giving Scrooge a questioning look as he passed by.

"Mrs. Beakley," Scrooge said quietly. "How do children manage to be so...well..."

"Innocent? Naive? Charming?" Mrs. Beakley suggested.

Scrooge nodded. "I haven't been a child in a long time. Webby can be though. And it should be kept that way."

As he climbed into bed, his mind wandered to Donald. Perhaps one day, he would want to reconcile too.

And they would be able to set sail on another adventure, as it was always meant to be.


End file.
